


Kindle The Flame

by AnyaYanko



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaYanko/pseuds/AnyaYanko
Summary: A YOI fic about sexual awakening. Mostly just exploring Yuri’s feelings about sex and relationships and how everything changes when Victor comes along…





	

Yuri could just about remember his Sex Education class, from back in Junior High. They had spent an hour or so learning about the sexual organs, labeling up diagrams of wombs and ovaries. The images had all been pastel-coloured cross-sections, which looked nothing like human body parts. Yuri had looked at them in the same way as he looked at any of the images from his biology text books. They were a little bizarre, a little alien, but ultimately innocuous. Paper-thin depictions of internal organs, with all the shape and detail but none of the flesh and blood.

Yuri had learnt all the correct names, slapping them in the right place, and everyone had seemed satisfied with his work. There had been nothing more required of him.

He vaguely recalled his teacher explaining the act of intercouse but the words used were all very clean and clinical. He understood the principal of penetration and ejaculation but in his mind the whole act was a very quiet, functional activity. He imagined that when he was married he would cuddle up with his wife to ‘make a baby’ and he would just slip that part of himself inside her, using his hands, and then the sperm would swim out in a gentle pool, with no effort on his part.

He rarely ever became erect and when he did he felt uncomfortable and embarrassed more than anything else. He understood that this was part of growing up, like sweating and sprouting hair, just his body going haywire. He accepted it and tried to manage it in the same way as all other pubescent inconveniences. He wore deodorant, he shaved, he took cold showers and went for long runs.

He never experienced any strong feelings of excitement or arousal - or, if he did, he never recognised them for what they were. He enjoyed some forms of romance in books and films but had no interest in sexy magazines and manga.

‘She’s perfect, don’t you think?’ Takeshi said to him, one day, brandishing a double page spread of the latest teen idol. She was in a tight swimsuit, her firm breasts spilling out of the top, he thighs crossed against the crease in the centrefold.

'She’s cute,’ Yuri had said, indifferently. He could see that she was attractive. He could even say that she had a good body but he would have never said that she was 'pefect.’ For him, that word was reserved for one specific person, and for them alone.

'She’s more than just cute!’ Takeshi had objected. 'Doesn’t she make you crazy?’ He had spent a moment staring down at the beautiful girl, like a fortune teller peering into a crystal ball; completely entranced. Yuri couldn’t help but wonder what he was seeing in that glossy glamour image.

'Wouldn’t you give anything to do it with her?’ Takeshi asked, at last, sighing as he came up out of his trance. Yuri had just blinked at him.

'Do what?’ he asked.

***

In Detroit, everything was different. The boys all laughed and joked about sex and masturbation at every opportunity. Yuri quickly had his eyes opened to the real facts about sex, the nitty gritty about fucking, finngering and fellating, and what he learned set his mind reeling.

The worst part was the realisation that everyone of his peers was currently engaged in regular acts of self-abuse. That this was, in point of fact, entity common and normal. While he, Yuri Katsuki, was profoundly abnormal. He cradled that knowlege to his heart; another weight on his chest and another burden to carry around, wherever he went. When it all got too much he went to practice. When he skated alone, in the large rink, he was able to focus on his feet and block out the rest of the world.

It worked well, for a little while, but then the world was always there waiting for him. He couldn’t run away forever.

He was so ashamed of himself that he could never bring himself to discuss the subject, not even with his closest friends. Whenever the topic of masturbation came up, as it so often did, he forced himself to laugh along with all the rest. All the while, terrified that someone was going to start asking him questions about his own habits, interrogating him for details he could not supply.

It was only towards the end of his time in Detroit that he finally, tentatively, broached the matter with his rinkmate. Pritchit was a foreigner, like him, so it was easier to ask him about the jokes and the stories.

'I think Americans are a lot more open about sex and that sort of thing,’ Pritchit said, with a shrug.

'Yes, but…’ Yuri had to force himself to go on. 'Is it…normal to do stuff like that…all the time?’

'I don’t know,’ Pritchit replied. 'Everyone’s different, aren’t they?’ He sounded completely unconcerned.

'Well, w-what about you?’ Yuri countered, desperately. 'Do you…touch yourself?’

Pritchit looked taken aback for a moment and then he laughed. The sound seemed to echo in Yuri’s ears, all sharp and high-pitched. It hurt him - more than anything he had ever known - but he worked hard to hide his pain.

Pritchett stopped giggling, eventually, and answered Yuri’s question.  
  
'Sure, I do,’ he declared. 'Now and then, when I feel like it.’ He gave Yuri a curious look. 'Why? Don’t you?’

If if had been anyone else then Yuri probably wouldn’t have answered. He would have found some way to side-step the question, to excuse himself from the rink. But this wasn’t just anyone asking, this was Pritchit. Pritchit, who was always so calm and kind and patient. Pritchit, who was easily his best friend, outside of Japan.

So, Yuri tried to explain himself. He spoke slowly, tripping over his words like a clumsy child, and Pritchit listened, in silence.

'It sounds like you’re sexually immature,’ Pritchit announced, once he was done. 'I remember feeling a lot like that, when I was younger. Maybe it’s taking your body a little longer to grow than for most guys.’

Yuri mulled over this diagnosis for a bit. It stung, just a little. It made him sound like a little boy, unable to understand or experience grown up feelings.

'You think I’ll grow out of it though?’ Yuri asked. 'You think I’ll just start having these…urges…and then I’ll be like everyone else?’

'Jerking-off like there’s no tomorrow?’ Pritchit quipped. He laughed and shrugged. 'Sure, why not? It might just be a chemical thing. You might be low on testosterone.’

Then, he did something which made all the difference. He reached out to place a hand on Yuri’s shoulder and smiled at him.

'Dont worry about it,’ he told him. 'It really doesn’t matter. You should just do what you want to do. Don’t spend time thinking about other people.’

Yuri had to swallow deeply before he could reply. His voice came out a little hoarse. 'But,’ he protested, 'I just feel like…there’s something really wrong with me.’

'There’s nothing wrong with you,’ Pritchit assured him. 'Everyone’s different.’

It didn’t make everything better. It didn’t smooth out all of Yuri’s anxieties or stop him from lying awake, late at night, worrying about sex, but it did comfort him just a little. It was reassuring to know that there was one person in the world who knew his secret and didn’t see him as a freak.

***

And then…and then there was Victor Nikiforov, his idol, his hero, staring down at him with those cold blue eyes and asking him about…Eros?!

'What does Eros mean to you?’ Victor asked, his voice lilting and teasing.

He was flirting with Yuri. Yuri knew it, not just from his tone of voice or his expression, but from the heat that was rolling off of his body. He could feel it, fizzling in the air, between them. He could feel it tingling on the surface of his skin, in the pulsing of his blood, even in the strands of his hair.

Victor Nikiforov was flirting with him.

And he was asking him to define sexual desire - the one concept that had always bewildered and alarmed Yuri. Victor asked the question playfully, with a wink and a smile, but his eyes burned with a bright flame. Yuri had the impression that he was staring straight into his soul and could see all the ways that he was lacking.

Yuri felt like cryring. Or curling up in a ball, under his duvet, and never coming out again. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not this time. He couldn’t run away from Victor, his idol and his inspiration. Not when he had spent his whole life running towards him.

Yuri was not a child anymore. He knew all the mechanics of sex and he understood the basic principles of sexual attraction and desire. He could construct a narrative filled with romance and eroticism, inspired by stories he’d heard of love and obsession, but when he tried to put himself into the equation it all fell apart. He couldn’t find that fire within himself, that apetitie that characterised every strong, red-blooded man in the world. Once again, he felt himself come up short.

His brain just seemed to short-circuit and he felt himself flailing, in desperation, to answer this riddle that his idol has set him - the question that had plagued his entire adult life.

Then, out of nowhere, he was mumbling something about food. Something about pork cutlets, and they were both staring at him - the grown man and the teenage boy - in consternation and pity. He felt his flesh burn, with shame.

'I suppose that could work,’ Victor said, gently. Nodding his head, as if Yuri hadn’t just made a complete and utter fool out of himself.

The boy - Yuri Plisetsky - just leered at him.

***

Victor did not press Yuri further. He did not demand that he search deeper, within himself, to find a better answer. He accepted what Yuri had given him and encouraged him to focus on the sensation of hunger. He shouted out ridiculous prompts, to do with cooked eggs and noodles, without the slightest hint of irony - but - underneath it all, Yuri could sense Victor’s dissatisfaction.

He wanted more from Yuri.

Yuri wanted nothing else than to please Victor. He wanted to show him that he was worth his attention, worth his time, and persuade him to follow him all the way to the Grand Prix. He knew he had managed to spark the man’s interest with his YouTube video, driving him to drop everything and come to Japan, but now Yuri wanted to feed that flame, until Victor’s passion burned eternally - an unquenchabe, all-consuming fire.

Was this, he wondered, what a woman felt in the deepest throes of love? This hunger to satisfy? This desire to capture a man’s heart, forever?

***

'I’ve always loved this costume,’ Victor told him. 'I felt so beautiful, when I wore it. The style is so androgynous; a perfect blend of feminine and masculine.’

He rested one hand on Yuri’s shoulder and moved the other to grasp the zip. He worked it down slowly, the metal teeth gliding apart with a little purr.

'It suits you better than it did me,’ Victor continued. 'You have the right body shape for it: so small and slender. It was alright, when I was younger, but now - it doesn’t look as good.’

Yuri tried to swallow. His mouth was filled with saliva. When he tried to speak his voice came out all strange and thick. It felt as though he was talking through glue.

'You are still very beautiful,’ he told Victor.

Victor laughed. He dragged the zip down further, exposing the length of Yuri’s back, naked and covered in sweat from the night’s performance. His fingers brushed against the bare skin, as gentle as a breeze, and Yuri shuddered in surprise.

'You are the beautiful one, Yuri,’ Victor whispered. 'You are…absolutely perfect.’

The word sent another shudder down Yuri’s spine and he felt his face burn with heat. He wanted to preserve this moment in time so that he could take it out and look at it, whenever he wanted, like a delicate silver locket, containing a portrait of a lover. Victor Nikiforov, the most perfect person in existence, though that he - Yuri Katsuri - was perfect. It was a moment of complete bliss.

Victor gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

'I know how hard you found it to skate this routine,’ he said, softly. 'I understand how difficult it can be to express a feeling that you’re so…unfamiliar with…’

Victor paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. He had grown strangely serious. His hands slid down Yuri’s back and then lay still, against the puckered fabric.

'I’ve struggled with the same thing, myself.’ Victor explained, in a whisper. 'Striving to express a feeling which I’ve never really known, first hand. It made me feel so frustrated, as though there was something wrong with me. I felt as though I was somehow incapable of ever experiencing that feeling.’

Yuri held his breath, startled by this revelation. He could never have imagined that Victor had any insecurities - either regarding his abilities, or his sexuality. He had always seemed so very confident and at ease with himself; a soul entirely at home in its body, with no barriers between the mind and the flesh.

Victor breathed, steadily, and sipped his hands under the fabric of the costume. His fingers slid over Yuri’s sides, gliding over the bumps of his ribcage, and came to rest over his heart. The organ pumped away wildly, like a caged animal sensing an intruder behind the bars, and Victor pushed back against the movement, as if he wanted to hold Yuri’s fear and excitement in the palms of his hands.

'You don’t need to doubt yourself, though,’ Victor whispered. 'It’s all there, inside you. It just needs someone to bring it out.’

He fingers pushed harder against Yuri’s flesh, the tips digging into his skin, and Yuri’s heart began to beat even faster. It seemed as though, now it had started racing, it was never going to stop. He wanted to melt away, under the force of it, to become a pure burst of energy, to be either consumed or to consume, until there nothing left behind.

'You’re the one that brings it out of me,’ Yuri murmured clumsily. He didn’t quite have the right words. 'You’re the one person that has always…inspired me’

The light that he had always chased after. The catalyst, at the heart of everything. There would never be enough words for what Victor was to Yuri.

'You have inspired me too, though,’ Victor told him. He tilted his head and his lips grazed Yuri’s cheek, in the ghost of a kiss, which made Yuri gasp. 'You have made me feel things that I never expected to feel.’

Yuri closed his eyes, in rapture. It was another moment to savour, to preserve forever in his mind. He reached up, hesitantly, and then caught Victor’s face in his hand. He pulled him down further, guiding his mouth to his throat. As Victor’s teeth scraped against his skin, as his tongue licked at the flesh, he murmured the man’s name, hungrily.

Then, there were no more words.


End file.
